Humira Shots, Haircuts, and Wedding Dresses, Oh My!

So, once again it’s been a long time since I’ve written! This year continues to be one wherein very little is “normal”, and in some ways not writing about it but just experiencing it has been the best way to process it. However, God always seems to bring me back to a place where I must recall that putting words to difficult things takes the power out of them… We name something, shed light on it, and invite Community into it, and suddenly the fear-swirl that comes with it must diminish. When I’m silent with something for too long, there is a temptation to see it as bigger than me, and what’s worse, that creeps into the feeling that it’s bigger than God, and the lie that we’re alone. I end up folding, thinking that speaking about things equates to whining, but that’s just a trick to make us feel judged, petty, small, and guilty, when Christ’s real perspective is one that caters to little children crawling up in His lap with little-children-worries.

The funny part is that these emotions seem to come out with the “wrong” triggers! Sickness itself was so bad. This last flare-up was so strong, so altogether crushing, that maybe there just wasn’t time to feel things as they happened, and now, months after the worst of it, the tiny things are the button-pushers.

This past week I had to cut my hair off. The rounds of powerful medicines we had to use for this flare-up made it rapidly fall out, and by the time this month came around it was clear that it wasn’t salvageable and that I was going to be a short-haired bride afterall. Not what I’d always dreamed of, but also NOT a huge deal; it’s definitely just hair! But somehow the no-choice-in-the-matterness of it all shook me up more than I expected, and on the happiest of girly days—when I got to go pick up my wedding dress and do the first fitting—I started to weep. Maybe these tangible things exist to put form to something we wouldn’t be able to process another way. Lost tresses and the way they change my face force me to move forward, to take a deep breath and chose bravery in the small stuff, leaving loss behind and pursuing confidence again after feeling tossed around by feisty circumstances.  

And I have been given the BEST support team for this stuff… two brothers and a sister that came along for the chop, and didn’t make me feel silly in any way, a mom that wiped my tears at the bridal salon, a pappy that nuzzled the words “you’re beautiful” into my cheek, and a fiancé that has only gushed delight, excitement, support, and anticipation at a lifetime of seeing each other grow and change.

A few days later, we needed to administer the second “loading dose” of the new “biologic” medication (given in my arm this time, instead of the initial 4 in my belly – see the pic!). This one is replacing the Remicade that was causing the hairloss, exhaustion, and brain-fog. We’re really hopeful that this is the one we can stick with for many years to come, and are praying that as it gets in my system, I will become able to wean off the steroids again and remain on only 1-2 medicines! It’s awesome to be able to give myself the shots (it’ll be 1 shot every 2 weeks now), and to no longer have to plan around intravenous infusions every 8 weeks! This medicine still suppresses my immune system, which potentially still limits where Johnny and I will be able to serve with Wycliffe in the future, but that “limit” no longer feels scary, and I stand firmly on the knowledge that no medicine will wrangle any limitation on God’s will.

So change pummels forward, but good things are afoot. Smiling today at the oddity of this summer, and thankful for all the ways this body is calming down. 

Mourning a path and gardening willingness

This is the week I was supposed to move to Papua New Guinea. ..Was supposed to get on a plane and leave everything behind but the relationships sending me, all my family and friends tethering me with love to this place. ..Was supposed to fly in multiple stages across datelines and timezones to a mountainous land throbbing from the ground with groans of longing for the Word in their languages...

I feel it pulse under my skin, everything put on hold, a twelve-year process prolonged into waiting once again.

And there is deep sadness in that, sorrow that some weakness in my physical body could explode into such severity now, and delay me from this work that I have felt my Lord tug at me about for more than half my years. Maybe it’s the steroids, but I find myself weeping often now, grasping to grieve for the scariness that November in the hospital was, for the confusion caused by getting so close to launching into Language Survey and then hearing God’s clear “No, still not yet.”

But that’s not quite it, maybe not quite true enough. I find myself grieving for the ifs. It’s too soon to know, but I find my soul reaching for answers about what things can be like once I’m in remission again——will it be possible to be a surveyor still, or will I need to do less physical roles in the Bible translation process? Will the Third World ever open up as an option again, or will these medicines (immuno-suppressants) be God’s tools of redirection, bringing me to work in a country I didn’t expect?  If it can no longer be Papua New Guinea, why did God spend all that time moving me in that direction, researching these people and their languages, investing in this Survey team, and creating a passion in me for the work He is doing there?——the questions can go on an on, but even they only scratch the surface, as it's more complicated than that. I can SEE God weaving together intricate stories that require more complexity, more ambiguity and waiting on Him than I'm comfortable with, but His results are always better than I can dream up, and the answers to those questions aren't the point..

Maybe more than this, then, I am grieving for how I can be so fully sold, so completely the property of my Jesus, and then still find willfulness in me that—in a tiny corner of my most honest and bare soul—hopes for my vision of things, my understanding, more than I fling myself at His feet to do whatever He pleases. Because He is most concerned with the conversation. There is no doubt that He will win. There is no doubt that all will hear, and He is mobilizing everyone who is willing to form the lines that will march forward with His healing, His breath, His salvation for every tribe and tongue. But more than just this end result, He uses every sorrow, every delay, every fog-enshrouded question mark, tear, and crumple to draw us and everyone around us into His lap, and to cultivate in us every good thing that cannot be there without whatever furnace He has brought us to. His sovereignty demands that I redefine everything—that if He allows it, that I should then call it Good, and open up my whole being to being drenched by that fire so we can continue on our way, refined and sharpened, and not consumed (Isaiah 43:2). He is fiercely committed to exacting every small rebirth of ferocious trust in us that will come from changing our plans, that will come from a million little deaths during our lifetimes, a million little lettings-go, even when He authored the direction of those plans in the first place (John 12:24). He loves me enough to forge an evermore iron-clad trust even when that process hurts.

So this week I grieve with my ribcage cracked open. I unlock that chamber so alter-flames can lick this heart with fiery tongues, can lap up disappointment and fear of loss, can dress every physical wound and every veins’ ache, can let in every EXTRAVAGANT joy that God has placed in my life in this season and every need that is before me right here, remembering that trusting Him is worth immeasurably more to Him than ministering for Him in any particular way. One will ALWAYS lead to the other (trust and love leading to ministry and worship), but He will zealously continue refining my trust until I am a closely-knit-to-Him shadow, turning on a dime, pouring Him out in the most unexpected ways and places, following His dancing Image more closely and with more abandon than I did before. Amen.

2012 - In Memoriam

Just a handful, not even a full-fingered hand, of posts punctuated 2012, and yet it has been one of the most remarkable of my life... The last few hours of 2012 tip-toed out last night, but I was left with gratitude as I listened to the patter. I stand baffled at the sheer speed of this last year, but more by the things I don't know how to explain about it.

A year ago in December, God set a tumble of miraculous movement in motion (explained HERE, if you missed it), and in that post I mentioned the impression I had that 2012's name for me was The Year of the Lord's Favor. This might have sounded pretentious in so many ways, but my goodness this past year spilled over with kindness and generosity that I have earned in no way. Over and over and over again, there has been a constant stream of things my soul couldn't have thought to ask for, and a joy-rush towards the work God formed me for. Where pain and waiting were my strong, patient teachers for the last few, warmth and unmerited awesomeness have guided this year. And so, though it is less conventional than listing things at Thanksgiving time, here is my heart's attempt—a typed register of a few things that should not stay unsaid, an account of goodness that must be spoken.

I am thankful:

• For my parents and siblings!—My parents and my sister and brother-in-law have a Masters in sacrifice with a Concentration in making you feel loved instead of needy. They have all made room in their homes for me, as we're all adjusting to the nearness of my move to Papua New Guinea (12 months!), and it has had such an impact on me.  Beyond this, I am so very blessed by the friendship of my siblings... how all three of them are truthful mirrors, verbal, kind, honest, and playful. They chip the edges off my too-serious, and comfort me in my too-sensitive. I am surrounded by love, and have never felt the weight of it as keenly as I do now that there is a timeline until I'm on the other side of the world for a few years.
• For getting to use my passport this year! I was blessed to spend time globe-trotting with Krissy and Chris, to hop into Canadian life for three months, and to take a train down the West Coast when I left Canada to spend time with dearones in San Francisco! 

• For a church family I am always blessed to be near, where there are artists that give of themselves, where worship is born of what God is doing among these people, where community is valued above 'having everything figured out', and where I'm challenged 

• For the many new babies in my life this year, and friends that welcome me into Auntishness with their children!!!
• For getting to go to Wycliffe's headquarters last February, and again in October for training. Both of these trips shifted and impacted huge decisions, and were such a submersion tank of prayer, preparation, and counsel

  

• For time this summer (while I was at school in Vancouver) with my uncle that lives there. We got to know each other as adults now, and I am moved by his tender heart and funny stories
• For all the students, friends, and soon-to-be-colleagues that I spent the whole summer with at CanIL! It was an incredible experience, to be surrounded by people that are passionate about Linguistics, Christ, and the need for Bible Translation, (not to mention the part where British Columbia took my breath away!) Lord willing, I will see them again in 2013 for one more class~

• For Allison and the Thursday Girls—You are friends of the highest caliber, and I will always, always, always be grateful for these years in Alli's dining room, one night a week, unmasking the world, laughing, baring our hearts, and eating delectables. 
• For a job that has been more than a job and people that have been more than co-workers

• For the interest, care and concern that I have been shown as I step into this role of missionary.. for the encouragement and prayer warriors in my life, and the prayer and financial team that is beginning to form.
• For good health(!!)--I have been in a pretty steady remission from Ulcerative Colitis for more than 2 years, and despite symptoms being a little rockier during grad. school this summer, I have been allowed to begin lowering doses of maintenance meds. This was something I dreamed of getting to do before heading to PNG next year!
  
  And most impactful to me,

• the overwhelming grace that I have been treated with this year. In so many ways, I have had nothing to offer. In the past, desert places were utilized to plant me firmly in the understanding that all I have sometimes is the will to choose obedience——when sickness comes, when hardship shakes what our culture tells us we're entitled to, all we have are the ways we respond, and this can bring God glory even when we have or are nothing else. But being stripped down in this way (in strength, health, time, finances), and needing to depend on others, has also at times left me feeling utterly indebted to kindnesses I can never repay (or has made me respond as an awkward recipient). But God is turning this on its head for me—reminding me that it's all His, and that He will do what He wants with it, that He delights to surprise us, and that His methods of getting us to where He wants us (and ultimately, of redeeming  e v e r y t h i n g) are unpredictable, joyous, and almost always communal and relational. He has been revealing pride for what it really is in me, and showing me that this will need to go; that His plan has always been about interdependence and goodness that we can't earn.
  This grace and generosity took many forms this year, (a spontaneously provided airplane ticket to visit my potential school last January, a vacation with 2 of my siblings gifted to me with a loving desire to spend time together in the face of us finding out I have 1 year left before moving to Papua New Guinea, an extension on a paper that came with so much more encouragement and edification than I could have guessed, dear friends providing the funds for Wycliffe's Equip Training and others paying the full conclusion of school loans that were keeping me from the mission field).. and this has sprung fertile humility. I have been shown so much faith by others in what God has been working out in me, and that faith and the active support of it moves my heart beyond words that I will ever have access to.

My brothers and sister and I! - Christmas 2012