Category: growth

Don’t wait for Christmas, a Revisit

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

Back in December 2014 when I first wrote this post, I was just starting to recognize how hard the holidays can be — how isolating, how anxiety-producing, how uncomfortable. I’ve always loved Christmas, but I’ve had a taste of how celebration can feel during a season of grief. I’ve begun to understand how difficult it can be to be with family and friends — even when you love them. And I’ve been learning a new way.

We spend a lot of time and money getting ready for the holidays. Over the last month many of us have attended parties, dinners, and gift exchanges with family, friends, and coworkers. We have cooked special foods, decorated our homes, and dressed in finery in order to celebrate.

We celebrate the love of family. We celebrate that we get time off from work. We celebrate our friendships. We celebrate the birth of a Savior.

We celebrate by eating, drinking, laughing, and sharing. We celebrate by giving and receiving gifts, by sending Christmas cards, by calling those we love, and by worshipping with our church families.

But there are many among us who just can’t celebrate. And they probably aren’t telling you about it. They may decline invitations, bow out early, or just refuse to answer your calls. It’s not that they don’t want to be there. They really do want to be there. They just can’t. 

It would be easy if they had a contagious disease, were recovering from surgery, or had a compromised immune system that prohibited them from joining in the festivities. Then you would understand. “Oh, too bad Bobby can’t be here, you know he just had that surgery, and he’s recovering in the hospital.” Everybody gets that. In fact, many of us would load up our gifts and drive over to the hospital to bring the celebration to Bobby because we love him and don’t want him to be left out.

But some people can’t celebrate and it’s because of something that you can’t see — something you may not understand.

Kay Warren, wife of well-known pastor, Rick Warren, who lost a son to suicide in 2013, recently posted on Facebook and then wrote in Christianity Today about the pain she has endured over the last two Christmases as well-meaning friends and acquaintances have sent Christmas cards filled with photos of smiling families and newsletters proclaiming all the good stuff that has happened for them over the year. She received these celebratory cards and letters and got angry. She couldn’t possibly celebrate. How could she, knowing that her son had taken his own life? Even if she believed that Jesus was born in a manger to save the world from their sins, even if she trusted Him and believed that He held her in the palm of His hand, she couldn’t possibly smile, or laugh, or rejoice.

She’s not alone, guys. While we deck the halls and kiss under the mistletoe, many around us can’t fathom the “oh what fun it is”. Not today. Not yesterday. Not Christmas Day.

They’ve lost a child. They are in the middle of a divorce. A loved one has cancer. They just lost their job and can’t pay the mortgage. Their father is on life-support. They have experienced pain that they can’t even talk about. And the idea of joining you or me in our merriment, knowing the pain that they know, is unconscionable. It just can’t be. 

So they stay home, miserably wishing they could be there, wishing they could celebrate, wishing they could be part of the joy. Angry that you can be. 

Moving forward, I’m going to spend less time and money getting ready for the holidays. I’m going to try to shift my focus to the here and now — to little moments that I can be with those I love —  in their tears,  in their laughter,  in their anger. And if we get glimpses of celebration, we will seize them — we won’t wait for Christmas.

And, if they happen to come at Christmas, well then, we’ll be all the merrier.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”

Matthew 5:4

Loved by God

~ Kristin ~ 2 Comments

I wrote this piece in November 2014, very early in my blogging days, when I was still hitting the space bar twice after every period and when I could say all I wanted to say in 800 words or less. I stumbled across it this morning, and I needed to hear what it had to say about putting people in boxes, about judging, about remembering that all of us are loved by God.

I have a bad habit — I’m a labeler. I tend to put people in boxes and sort them — liberal, conservative, Christian, non-Christian, rich, poor, smart, stupid, white, black. It’s very limiting. When I place people in a box marked ‘liberal’, for instance, a whole bunch of stuff gets stuck on them that may or may not have anything to do with them. Same thing happens in the conservative box.

I like to hang out with people in some boxes, but not necessarily those in others. I feel comfortable when tossed in with ‘smart’ people, for example, but somewhat self-conscious when mixing with ‘rich’ people. When I mingle with ‘black’ people I feel cool, but when I mix with ‘white’ people (even though I, myself, am white) I feel boring. I have even created boxes such as ‘too-rich’, ‘too-white’, and ‘extremely conservative’. Those boxes are placed on very high, or very low, shelves so that my access to them is limited. I probably wouldn’t mix with ‘those people’ very well, now, would I?

This bad habit impacts the richness of my life. It keeps me away from many groups of people, from diverse opinions, and from new ways of thinking. It causes me to think that I am better than those who somehow don’t fit in the same boxes that I fit in. It sometimes even makes me feel afraid. I mean, if I have labeled others, certainly they have labeled me. Surely they have put me in a box full of stuff that doesn’t necessarily apply to me. Of course they have judged me.

I hate being labeled. I wish people would just get to know me and value me for the person I am, but it’s kind of hard for them to do that if I’ve already stuck them in a box, passed judgment on them, and shoved them far away from my reach. Isn’t it?

I guess if I want others to get to know the true me I may have to invest in getting to know the true them. After all, not all those I have dumped in the ‘Christian’ box think exactly the way I do, vote the way I do, or even worship the way I do. Not everyone in the ‘stupid’ box is actually ‘stupid’. In fact, probably no one that I have placed in that box is truly ‘stupid’, maybe I’ve put them there simply because they don’t see things the way I do.

Maybe I’m stuck in someone else’s box that they have marked ‘stupid’.

I think I’m going to have to recycle all my boxes. Once out of the boxes, everyone could be free to move around, mingle, and see the deep richness and complexity of God’s creation.We are so diverse, so multifaceted, so surprisingly creative, yet we all have one thing in common — we are created by and loved by God. It seems to me that everything else is irrelevant, don’t you agree? He created each of us. He loves each of us. He doesn’t rate us or sort us based on skin color, political orientation, body shape, or socio-economic status. He looks at His kids and He loves us, even when we actively announce that we under no circumstances love Him.

He doesn’t have a favorite. In fact, He would love it if we all tried to share our toys and get along with one another. He hopes that we will see Him in one another and grow to love one another. He has created us to complement one another and to encourage one another — not to judge one another, not to label one another, not to put one another in boxes.

So what do you say, want to take a trip to the recycling center with me? Want to try a new way — get rid of some boxes, destroy some labels, and have a cup of tea? First cup’s on me.

Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God.

I John 4:7-8

Invisibly Ill, and being still, a re-visit

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment
Click above if you’d like to hear my creaky morning voice read this post; otherwise, read on!

On Monday, I wrote about autoimmunity (full post here) and how I function daily in January 2020. Many of you wrote to thank me for sharing my journey. In light of that, I thought it might be useful for this week’s re-visit to be my very first post on autoimmune disease from way back in July 2014 — my second blog post ever. A lot has changed since then — my diagnosis, my symptoms, and my reality. Everyone’s struggle with illness is different, and many of those struggles we cannot see. Many more than I are invisibly ill.

In my first entry on this blog, I mentioned that my doctors had advised me to take some time off to rest. Some of you who know me might be thinking, “Well, shoot, you look fine to me.”  Let’s talk about that for a moment. 

People who have autoimmune diseases have a unique experience: although they may look fine, they are sometimes debilitatingly ill. In addition to feeling horrible, they have the added burden of people questioning the validity of their illness, or worse, accusing them of hypochondria. I have been extremely blessed to have very supportive people in my life, but many do not have this experience. [There are other invisible illnesses. However, since this blog is my experience, I will write about how my disease, psoriatic arthritis, affects me. I am learning that everyone’s experience is unique.]

If you didn’t know me prior to 2012, you might see me on the street and think I am an average middle-aged woman, and in most ways I am. In fact, even if you did know me before 2012, you might not notice that much has changed — I’ve gotten a little older, a little grayer, a little rounder, but overall, I look the same. However, my life has changed dramatically.  

Some things you may notice.  

  • I wear glasses more than not now. When I was 15 I replaced my Coke-bottle bottom glasses with contacts, and I never went back. However, many autoimmune diseases, including mine, come with chronic dry eyes which make contact lens wearing difficult. Additionally, I am on immunosuppressant drugs. These drugs, along with a round of steroids, created a perfect environment for ocular herpes. Ocular herpes can recur, especially in people who wear contacts. So, glasses.  
  • I walk more slowly, and sometimes with an altered gait. I am especially slow when I first stand up. Stairs are a challenge. I used to run 5-6 days a week. In fact, I completed two half-marathons after the age of 40, the second one in under two hours! Chronic pain in my hips and back along with chronic fatigue have halted my running career. I now aim to walk 2-3 miles a day, 4 or more days a week. I can do this if I am careful about the other things that fill my day. 
  • I look wiped out, like I haven’t slept or like I’ve been sick. I am wiped out. My body is constantly fighting inflammation. I sometimes crawl into bed before 6 pm. This can add to my joint pain, but I sometimes physically don’t have the steam to do much more than lie down. 

What you probably won’t notice. 

  • I sometimes can’t remember your name, or the four-digit code for our house alarm that we’ve had for six years, or my social security number that I memorized in high school. Chronic fatigue causes the brain to forget things. 
  • Joints throughout my body — fingers, hands, feet, hips, knees, elbows, shoulders — not only hurt, but also seem to be radiating heat. It feels like I am constantly bathing in IcyHot. 
  • I sometimes just feel like crying — not necessarily from pain, or sadness, or fatigue, but maybe from all of those.  
  • I do have psoriasis, mostly in places you can’t see.  

All of this is exacerbated by stress, weather, environment, and fatigue. Things that help include an altered diet (gluten- and dairy-free, lots of veggies, fruit, nuts, seeds, etc.),  Pilates, walking, medication, supplements, acupuncture, massage, and rest, plenty of rest.

It is 1:45 a.m., technically morning, so I went ahead and read my Bible reading for today. Matthew 8 recounts the stories of Jesus healing a man with leprosy, the Centurion’s servant, and many others. I have thought about this extensively. Jesus healed many. Will he heal me? Should I, like many Christians suggest, pray for that healing and ‘claim it’? The prophet Isaiah says, “Surely he took up our infirmities and bore our diseases.”  

You know, I am not sure I should pray for that. You might think I am crazy. You might look at my bulleted lists above and say, “why wouldn’t you want to be healed of that?”  

Not all illnesses are physical. I am pretty convinced that my emotional/spiritual health is improving as my physical health has become limiting. But wouldn’t Jesus want to restore all of me? He will one day, for sure, but perhaps he is using this illness, in this season, to cause me to be still so that I can know he is God in a way that I haven’t known before. 

Some blessings I have noticed in my illness:

  • I have an amazing husband who has never once doubted my symptoms, even when I have. 
  • I have friends, family, and coworkers who are supportive and who have helped and encouraged me.
  • Slowing down and being still makes me more accessible to the people in my life.  I hear more of what they have to say, even if I do sometimes forget it!
  • I am learning to be more sensitive to the needs of others and not to make assumptions. I was feeling sorry for myself one day at a school function when a parent reached out to me and asked how I was doing. Only after I had whined and complained did she share that she had terminal cancer. I never would have guessed — she was always engaging and positive!

So, for now, I am content, even in this circumstance.  I know that “in all things God works for the good of those who love Him” (Romans 8:28). I do love Him, so I am going to continue to be still.