Mid-NPM Ramble #1 [The Heckler]

I'm awake right now because the dog woke me up. The dog woke me up because we didn't take her out recently. We didn't take her out recently because went to bed before midnight. And we went to bed before midnight because my hubby is tired.

I, however, was less tired because I was sick this morning and skipped church and therefore when the dog woke me up I'd only been asleep for about 45 minutes so I've just been putzing around the apartment trying to get tired again.

So I'll tell you a story.

It's 9 o'clock. Joey has gone to fetch us some dinner and left me at Ross. I need to buy a few things, like a bow tie and a sports bra. You know, normal stuff that people buy from discount stores at 9pm.

After half an hour of wandering and finding neither sports bra nor bow tie (thrilling, I know) I meander up to the checkout area. I have just one item in my cart--a shiny silver soap dish. I hate checking out with one random item but I sincerely like and need this soap dish. This soap dish will fit in that stupid little nook next to the faucet handle, and bars of soap will actually fit inside the dish, so even though I feel silly, there is no way I'm putting it back and abandoning the cart.

The only other people in the store are an Indian woman and her daughter, and they are already in line ahead of me. Mother is heckling the cashier about getting a 20% discount on a handful of items and the daughter is struggling to hold all the other items not yet on the counter.

While I wait in line I peruse the assortment of junk food. It's mostly jelly beans. I hate jelly beans. I'm hoping for a bag of those mini gummi bears (Yes, they are MINI gummi bears. They are tiny and delicious and freakin adorable.) but have no luck.

Meanwhile Joey and I are texting back and forth. He's asking why I'm taking so long, and I tell him about the Heckler and her daughter. He says that the husband/father is outside smoking a cigarette and uses an irritated emoji, and I laugh quietly. Joey is tired and cranky. He threatens to eat dinner without me in the car and I explain that the Heckler is about to leave, so he should watch the door to see this tiny little girl holding a bag twice as big as her filled with--who knows what.

Maybe they bought all the sports bras and bow ties.

The cashier greets me, I greet her, and I set my pretty soap dish on the counter, only to be interrupted by a jarring BE-E-EP, BE-E-EP, BE-E-EP. 

The Heckler turns around, looking furious that something has set off the alarms, and the Heckler's Daughter looks disheveled. I take away my soap dish just in time as they slam Santa's Bag of Toys (or bag of sports bras and bow ties) back on the counter, narrowly escaping soap-dish-death.

To avoid awkwardness I keep looking at the junk food while the Heckler continues heckling. There's a bag of regular-sized gummi bears and I quickly text Joey just as the Heckler and the Heckler's Daughter are leaving again.

"Do you want 4lbs of gummi bears?" I ask him.

I put the soap dish on the counter. The cashier apologizes for the delay, I dismiss her worries, and just as she's putting my receipt in the bag I check my phone one last time.

Joey's response: YES.

Another transaction is made as I purchase the gigantic bag of deliciousness.

Meanwhile, Joey has seen the Heckler's Daughter and the huge bag of whatever.

"THAT IS A CRAP TON OF CRAP," he texts me.

When I finally exit the store I see the Heckler's Husband putting out his cigarette. Their minivan is parked next to us, where my husband is blasting Murder Train. (A joke, for anyone who has ever watched How I Met Your Mother.)

I get one last text message: "!!!!!!!!!!!"

As he increases the volume I raise the bag gummi bears above my head in victory.

I may have no bow ties, no sports bras, no sleep, and no sanity.

But I will now have a handful of gummi bears and attempt to go back to bed.

Thanksketching: Day 15

I am thankful for

musty pages,

note-filled margins,

for limitless stories,

everything under the sun that

I can hold in my hand.

Surgery, Part 2: What the Heart Wants

**Read Part 1 HERE.**

I'll begin by saying I don't like being asked personal questions on somebody else's watch. I'm a pretty open person and I'll give anybody details as long as I'm comfortable with that person, but even from close friends and family I don't like the suddenness of "What are you having surgery for?" It doesn't mean I "don't like you" if I don't answer... it's just a very personal issue. It's my story, and I get to choose when it's told. That time is now.

You've already been informed that the fancy hospital socks were not the highlight of yesterday. But this was. 

So Tim the chaplain was holding my hand. He had kind eyes and a sincere smile as he asked me if there was anything or anyone else I'd like him to pray for. I looked up at Joey, and up at Tim, back and forth until I look back down at my own hands. I told him what I was there for, why I was having the surgery, and what I hoped would happen next. My answer for him was brief, and included some awkward hand motions because I felt so incredibly overwhelmed, but this is the back story for all of you:

I want to have kids. For reasons unknown to me, it just hasn't happened yet. We've been trying for three years, not knowing what to do, or if it's anyone's fault. When we finally got health insurance last summer I knew the time had come to figure all this out. So first I got the surface stuff out of the way--allergies, vitamin deficiencies, physicals and all the basics. Then I did the hard stuff like "lady doctor" visits. I was reprimanded for not having a ob/gyn visit sooner, but I wasn't "active" (yeah, I went there) until I was married. So, yes, I went 6 extra years without one because I didn't need one. I'm not sure if making that appointment sooner in my life would have solved anything, but it's too late now to make a difference. 

It was after that appointment that the adventure really started. They discovered I had "abnormal cells" and I spent a month worrying that I had cancer. I scheduled a colposcopy, which they rescheduled three times for various reasons. It was an anxiety-filled month. When the colposcopy finally happened they did seven biopsies (you can look colposcopy up, if you want to. Just understand it was the most painful experience of my life, even worse than this surgery [so far] and it's a pretty gross concept. So do your research, but you have been warned.)

My doctor called with the results of the colposcopy about a week later and said there was some polyp tissue. Polyps are pretty harmless, in general--except that they take up space. She said it was possibly the polyp, if it really was there, was simply taking up space and inhibiting fertility. So I went in for an ultrasound, but they couldn't see anything because my uterus was too flat. Yes, that's right, too flat. The layers were all stuck together. My doctor said I could do a secondary ultrasound during which they would dilate the uterus, if I wanted to, but if they saw the polyp they would end up doing surgery no matter what. She gave me the option going straight to surgery, and I said yes. 

It was one of those moments where I knew the answer right away. It was imperative for me to answer right away. My husband was in the shower, and I briefly thought about calling my mother to ask her advice, but it only took a second to realize this was my decision. I thought my heart was going to pound out of my chest, but I said yes.

So that brings us back to Thursday, February 26th around 1pm. Tim the chaplain is holding my hand and I'm telling him that I hope this procedure will allow me to have kids. He thanked me, because it was very personal information, and he began to pray.

He prayed that Joey and I would have peace and comfort, that I would heal quickly. He prayed for a successful procedure and a smooth recovery. He started to pray about having children, and he began with my least favorite words: Lord, let your will be done.

Even if you haven't been reading my blog for long you know that I find this prayer pointless. God's will is going to be done, even if we don't ask for it, even if we don't want it. While he does want us to seek his will, he also wants us to communicate with him, to tell him what we want. Even if he says no, he always hears us.

Tim the chaplain was in the middle of those blithe, careless prayers about the will of God and I had started thinking, "Wow, what a disappointing prayer," because I had hoped his words would be encouraging. As he started to ask God to help us understand if children weren't in our future, I began to feel immensely depressed. 

And then Tim laughed and said, "But we know you better than that." He quoted Matthew 18:19-20, which says, "Again, truly I tell you that if two of you on earth agree about anything they ask for, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven. For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them." I could hear the joy in his voice as he spoke about God hearing us, and as he prayed that God would bring us children.

My tired eyes were filled with tears as Tim gripped my hand tightly, smiling down at me, and then he left. Joey and I were speechless for a minute or two, sharing in the joy of what has just happened. 

He hears us. He is with us. He hears our hearts and I believe can grant us those desires. I believe my heart wants what it wants because he put it there, and he doesn't do anything without a reason. 

It wasn't long before another crowd of nurses and doctors came in, asking me more questions and I had to tell one more person I didn't have PCOS. I was given a dose of something to lay the foundation for the anesthesia, and became very sleepy as my surgeon informed me I couldn't take a bath for two weeks after the surgery. (This is literally the most difficult part about the whole ordeal. Taking a bath is like therapy. I can't live without it.) I handed Joey my glasses and he kissed me goodbye, and as they wheeled me into the operating room some part of my sleepy brain had this song stuck in my head.

 To Be Continued...

Two Simple Requests

I guess this is as good of a time as any to say what I need to say. I have been trying for about a week to figure out how to ask for what I need from the world--the world being whoever is about to read this blog.

I'm supposed to have surgery next week, on Thursday. I had written up a long post about how I'd like you to pray for me and explaining why I was having it, but I think that's a story for another time. Today it's something else.

See, the thing is, I'm supposed to have surgery. My first one ever. I'm not nervous about it but the process of getting there has become more than I can handle. My surgeon has not communicated well with me, or with my regular doctor. I have spent the last two days trying to get a hold of her, with literally no success. I can't even leave a message for her.
So I have two requests.

1. Please pray that I get there. Pray that all this communication rubbish is over with by Monday and that I don't suffer for my surgeon's mistakes. I have already rescheduled the surgery once and don't have the energy to do it again, to rearrange my life and work for something that should have already happened. 

2. Pray that this is the last procedure. Pray that this one surgery is all I'll need and that after my body has healed I can move on with my life and do what I want to do. (If you already know my story, you know what this!) Pray that the next thing on my to-do list is a joyful blessing, and not another surgery or another horribly miserable biopsy (also a story for another time) or trips to see more specialists. 

And I don't want your placid "God's will be done" prayers, or "whatever you think is best, God" prayers. God's will is going to be done whether you ask for it or not! Furthermore, God invites to ask for the desires of our heart. That doesn't mean he will necessarily give us what we want, but we are welcome to ask. I'm going to ask, as fervently as someone can ask God for something, and I need you to ask with me.

Thirty Thanks, Day 8: The Story (Part 2)

Many things divide your life into two halves. The time before you met your spouse, and the time after. The time before you lost that friend, and the time after. Before kids, after kids. Before getting that job, after having that job. 

There has never been a time before stories. And there will never be a time after, for all of life is a story. The chapters change and the pages increase in number and spine becomes bent and cracked with age. But there is never after. It always is.

However, there was a time when I didn't know what stories meant to me. 

Children who love books usually know they love books, but they don't know the power held in them--we can't all be Matilda Wormwood. Children who love books will cart them to and from the library in large stacks. They will have trouble on library day at school, because they can only check out two books at a time. They will sneak peeks into their parents' bookshelves and steal glances at books they're not mature enough to read. They will do all these things and find thrill in every moment without ever realizing that their love for books is actually a love of story, which is more than a hobby or pastime--it's the adventure of a lifetime.

This sort of adventurous love for story is a compulsion, a conviction, a belief. It is the belief that for every question the answer is a story. Every sorrow comforted, every wound healed, every mistake forgiven, and every joy affirmed by a story. Jesus himself used stories to express his love for people and carry out his mission. The Bible itself is a story of epic measurements. 

And so we have this belief as children without knowing it, until one day we do. We know it. We feel it. We believe it. 

During the year I decided I wanted to be a writer, I also realized how deeply I loved books. But even then it wasn't until later that I understood it was a love of story that really fueled my love for writing. And there was a difference in everything. My thinking change, my writing changed, my heart changed. The world looks different when you comprehend its story-ness.

Yesterday I was thankful for the stories of my childhood. Today I am thankful for the stories after childhood. I am thankful for the transformative power of a story, for the way they alter my way of thinking and the way I perceive the world. I am thankful for the depth added to books when we recognize a good story, and not just a plot or characters that are "interesting." I am thankful for the way stories engage us at every turn. I am thankful for the way stories allow us to connect with each other, regardless of the people we have been or the people we are or will be. I am thankful that stories follow us and shape us. I am thankful that stories can be uniters and changers and inspirers and convicters. I am thankful for the way faith in Jesus is so naturally shared by story. Most of all, I am thankful for who stories have made me--before I knew they were changing me, and after. 

Thanks, stories. You're incredible. 

Thirty Thanks, Day 7: The Story (Part 1)

Long ago there was a blackbird whose wife was stolen by an Indian ruler. Blackbird made put on his armor and made himself a drum and traveled toward the palace to get back his wife. On his way he met some ants, some cats, some sticks, and a river. They had all been wronged by this evil ruler too, and so they climbed inside Blackbird's ear. They made their way to the palace, overcame every obstacle put in their way, and rescued Blackbird's wife.

This is my favorite childhood story. It's adorable, but that's not why I'm thankful.

Last year I made a blog post that was thankful for simply all books, or at least my favorite books. But this year I want to express more about the foundation of that feeling. I did not reach adulthood and suddenly become a book-lover. No, my love for such things was built over many years. Today I want to say that I am thankful for children's stories. 

The story mentioned above is an old Indian folktale, called Rum Pum Pum. It's one of my favorite books from my childhood, but also one of my favorite books EVER. It's not because there are talking animals--I couldn't care less about talking animals. In fact, I'd rather do without them all together. And it's not because it's a "hipster" book that no one knows about, or a "folktale" and therefore more moralistic and meaningful that more popular children's books. I love it because of its phenomenal story that resonates with reality.

Our protagonist has suffered a great loss. Rather than give up hope, he finds his strength and starts a journey. There are many adventures to be had and friends to find along the way. He is victorious not by his own strength, but by the unity formed between them all.

In real life, we suffer great losses. We feel compelled, sometimes, to lose hope. But we don't. We hold on. We fight. There is a fight to win, a battle to begin. And there are others who have suffered their own losses, others who have their own tragedies and sorrows and they will fight with us! Many things in this life we must do alone, but a victory--vindication!--is something to be shared.

This is true of Rum Pum Pum, of Little House on the Prairie and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and The Little Engine that Could. There is a fight, there are friends, and a grand finale. This is also true of the stories my father told me when I was little. They were about Princess Goldenhair (ahem) and her brothers (ahem) and some evil goblins. These were stories about fighting for justice and friendship and being brave.

I am thankful for the stories of my childhood, for the lessons they allowed me to learn. I am thankful for the deep love for books they ingrained in my soul. I am thankful for the connections I was able to make within each story, how every character taught me something about real life. I am thankful for the good guys and the bad guys and the illustrations and even the talking animals. I am thankful for the way books can be friends themselves, and for the way they can heal and comfort and inspire.

Thanks, stories. You're incredible.